


The birth of a monster.

by Talraven



Series: Re-Rolling the DC Dice: The White Mask [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Het, Child Abuse, Conditioning, Gen, Hate Speech, Illegal Activities, Internalized Homophobia, Murder, White Mask AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-27 16:03:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20410492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talraven/pseuds/Talraven
Summary: Roman Sionis has no idea how to be a good father. Unfortunately for Dick, he's also not a good man.





	The birth of a monster.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Roman is _very_ not nice to Dick. Also, there's implied sexual abuse at the end which doesn't go into detail, but it's very intrinsic in Roman's relationship with Dick. Please don't read if you're uncomfortable with any of that. Oh, and Dick is very OOC, if that bothers you too.

The first time Roman has a proper conversation with Dick is seven weeks after he’d picked him up from the Boys’ Home.

Roman’s been primarily ignoring the kid since that day, only meeting him if they had galas to attend or press conferences to make an appearance for.

(“It’s important that they _ see _ it, Mr. Sionis. There’s no point having the boy if you’re going to keep him locked away in the penthouse. If- if you’ll excuse my saying so, sir…”)

The only thing Roman knows about him is that he’s a fucking good actor. Probably the circus genes in him or whatever, but the kid can _ smile _ with the best of them. He puts on a show like he’d been born for it; holding Roman’s hand without prompting like he’d been instructed, calling him father in front of the press with that soft and loving tone.

If Roman hadn’t known any better, he’d buy the act himself.

In truth, after the cameras are gone and the last of the paparazzi have been warded away, the kid would stare silently down at his feet and generally give off the impression that he’s wishing for the ground to swallow him up. He’s eerily quiet all the time and he never looks Roman in the eye.

Besides that fact, Roman doesn’t know jackshit about the kid. He’s been too busy with his businesses and Tiffany constantly vying for his attention to even really spare a thought to the boy. Most days, Roman doesn’t remember he even exists; _ that’s _how silent he is.

Moreover, most of what Dick needs is dealt with by Roman’s advisor, so it’s not like Roman ever has to look at him, let alone _ talk _ to the boy. 

But it’s been almost two months now and his advisor isn’t a babysitter, so after all the fuss had finally died down, and Roman had sent Tiffany off on a vacation to Coast City for some fucking peace and quiet, he sits the kid down and tells him what’s what.

“You’ll be getting a governess,” Roman tells him. “She’ll teach you whatever the fuck they’re teaching kids nowadays at school and you’re going to score perfectly on every subject or there’ll be consequences. Anything you need, you ask her. If I hear any complaints from her about your behaviour, you’ll be seeing _ me. _ Is that clear?”

The boy nods, his eyes downcast, fixed on his shoes. Roman frowns, annoyed by the silence for once.

“Speak when you’re spoken to, boy,” he barks out, and the kid jumps a little, looking up at him with wide, startled eyes.

“Yes, sir,” he says, quickly averting his gaze again at the anger on Roman’s face. “Sorry.”

“Sorry, _ what_?”

“Sorry, _ sir._”

There’s a hint of a snide tone in the way the boy concedes too easily, which somehow pisses Roman off even more. Narrowing his eyes, Roman stands up and unbuckles his belt, taking satisfaction at the alarmed expression forming on the boy’s face when he realizes what’s happening.

Good. At least he’s not _ stupid. _

(Still stupid enough to sass Roman, though.)

“Take your pants off,” Roman orders.

The boy stiffens in his seat, his eyes as wide as saucers as he stares up at Roman.

“I didn’t-” he starts, his gaze darting down to the way Roman’s hands are gripping tightly onto the leather. “I _ apologized, _ sir. Why are you- I don’t understand-”

“On your _ feet, _or I’ll make sure you’ll bleed, boy.”

The kid’s hands fist tightly on his lap, and Roman can tell that he’s angry too. He’s indignant at how unfair he thinks Roman’s being, doesn’t think he deserves the spanking that’s coming to him.

It’s interesting. Roman had thought he was just a weak, dumb little faggot Gyp, too timid to even stand straight in the presence of Black Mask.

A good actor indeed.

He’s got fire in him after all, and Roman sneers down at him, excited to find out how long that fire will last under _ Roman’s _ care.

(Let’s see how _ Richard _ feels this time, getting beaten for something that isn’t his fault.)

“Fifteen lashes. Count them, or I’ll start all over again.”

\---

It becomes something of a personal challenge for Roman since then.

The kid’s smart; he’d caught on quickly that Roman had _ liked _ his minuscule show of defiance, and he’d hidden it better ever since. Rarely, if ever, does he act out again around Roman, maintaining that infuriating, silently deferential attitude whenever Roman’s talking to him.

Roman, in response, does _ everything _ he can to make him break character.

He asks him incessant questions, gives him ridiculous orders, asks him for opinions that Roman doesn’t care about before belittling the boy about them every time. Sometimes it works; especially that last one. And those times are _ always _ the most satisfying victories

(Roman could just beat him for the shit of it, of course, even if the boy doesn’t misbehave. It’s not like he’d be able to stop Roman. 

But there’s not much fun in _ that. _

It’s so much better when the boy gets that look in his eyes that clearly says he _ knows _ it’s his own damn fault that he hadn’t kept his goddamn mouth shut; that he’d spare himself all the pain and the humiliation if he’d just concede to Roman.

_ That _ despair is what really gets Roman’s blood pumping.)

Once, Roman had brought work home, in the form of a useless waste of space who’s worked for him as a dealer for the past five years. Problem with him is that he keeps sampling the merchandise himself, and while Roman’s never given a shit as long as his money keeps flowing in, the numbers have stopped tallying for a couple of weeks now.

So Roman has him brought to the penthouse, has him tied to a chair while he contemplates whether or not five years of mediocre service is worth the price of the shitface’s life.

Roman’s surveying the expansive collection of knives he’s deciding to use next on the shitface when Dick comes walking in, drowsily wiping at his eyes and yawning widely, not noticing the scene in the middle of the living room as he makes a beeline for the kitchen.

When he comes back out, he’s slightly more awake than before, and he freezes when he realizes that he’s not alone. His gaze lands immediately on Roman, on the black mask he’d only seen Roman wear once, and the fear in his expression is palpable.

It’s the clearest invitation Roman’s ever received.

“Come here, boy,” he says, letting amusement curl around his words as he picks up a knife and gestures at the shitface with it. “Come meet daddy’s friend.”

Roman sees the boy hesitate, sees the gears turning in his head as he tries to figure out what Roman’s up to this time. Fortunately for him, he understands that it doesn’t matter if he knows or not. 

Roman had given him a direct order, and it’s unimaginable to disobey. Roman makes a mental note to take it easy on him for that; good boys deserve rewards, after all.

Roman grabs the kid’s shoulder with his free hand once he’s close enough, and guides him until he’s standing right in front of shitface’s bloodied, panting form.

“See, he’s been a bad friend,” Roman tells the boy, bending down to whisper in his ear. The boy shudders at their proximity, or maybe at the disgusting glob of blood that shitface chokes up just then. “He’s been stealing from me. He thought I wouldn’t notice, but what kind of a boss would I be if I didn’t count every penny?”

Shitface blurbs something - probably an apology - and coughs up more blood, eliciting a flinch from the boy. He tries to pull back from him, but Roman holds him in place, gripping his shoulder with warning. He stills, but Roman can practically feel his pulse racing through his thin pajamas.

“So tell me, boy. Do you think it’s fair if I killed him for it?”

Shitface makes a pathetic, whimpering sound at the question, but Roman ignores him, looking down the boy’s head instead, expectant.

He’s trembling now under Roman’s hold, and his brows are furrowed, his lips pursed so tightly that they’ve gone white on his face.

“It’s wrong,” he blurts out, glancing quickly up at Roman before fixing his gaze on shitface. “You’re hurting him and it’s not _ right. _ Let him go.”

Roman almost bursts out laughing. He lets go of the boy instead, moving to stand behind shitface.

“But he stole from me,” he says, grabbing shitface’s head, his gloved fingers snatching on the short strands at the top. Shitface whimpers again, and the boy flinches fearfully as Roman presses his knife against the soft underskin of shitface’s throat. “Doesn’t he deserve to be punished?”

The boy shakes his head, looking sick as his gaze darts between the knife and Roman’s eyes. “Take him to the police,” he says desperately. “Get him arrested! You can’t just kill someone because they stole money from you!”

Roman _ does _ laugh then, and the boy looks around the room at Roman’s men, his eyes wide and pleading.

“Stop him,” he says. “You have to do something! Please!”

“Don’t waste your breath, boy. They all know what happens when you steal from Black Mask.”

The boy screams as the knife does its job, dropping to his knees and burying his face behind his hands, his small form quaking visibly. Roman grins under his mask at the sight, barking out a laugh as shitface slumps sideways in his restraints when Roman lets go of his hair.

The boy’s scream peters off into loud sobs, and Roman tosses his knife back to join the others and gestures irritably at shitface.

“Clean this mess up,” he says, even though his men are already moving quickly to do so.

Roman sidesteps them and grabs the boy by his arm, roughly dragging him over to the sofa a few feet away, ignoring his weak, crying protests.

“Stop it,” Roman snaps at him, but Dick’s still sobbing uncontrollably, his hands practically glued to his eyes and his face. “Cut it out before I do the same thing to you right here.”

He’s not surprised when the boy doesn’t listen, but it’s actually starting to get annoying, so Roman grabs his thin wrists and wrenches his hands away forcefully. The kid’s face is a swollen mess of misery, his eyes pinched and red, his round cheeks drenched in tears.

It’s a satisfying sight, but Roman’s not done with his lesson yet.

“Look at him,” he hisses, jerking the boy towards where his men are untying shitface from the chair. “_Look, _ you little shit.”

The boy shakes his head frantically, squeezing his eyes shut when Roman grabs his head in both hands and forcefully turns him towards the sight.

“Open your fucking eyes before I cut your eyelids off.” 

It’s not an empty threat and the boy knows it. Still sobbing, he peels his eyes open slowly, and starts keening when he sees the river of blood flooding out from the gaping cut along shitface’s neck, the open, dead gaze of shitface’s lifeless eyes. His hands scrape uselessly against Roman’s arms, trying to free himself to look away again.

“That’s what happens when you try to fuck me over,” Roman tells the boy. “That’s a _ mercy, _ boy. I can do much, _ much _ worse if I wanted to. _ And I’d like it. _”

Roman finally lets him go, and the boy scrambles away from him and down to the floor, hunching over and coughing painfully as he vomits all over the carpet. 

It’s been a while since he’d seen someone react so strongly to death, and it’s the novelty of seeing it again that makes Roman decide not to punish him for it, or for the earlier outburst. He still has work to do anyway.

Roman tosses his handkerchief down at the boy as he continues to dry-heave, choking on nothing and still sobbing weakly.

“Get back to bed,” Roman says, checking his watch and his men’s progress with a glance. “Before I decide to punish you for being up so late anyway.”

The boy doesn’t obey immediately, but Roman’s feeling generous enough to allow him the time to collect himself, to wipe at his mouth with the sleeve of his pajamas and sit up slowly, carefully avoiding looking over at shitface.

He stands on shaky feet, and to his credit - and Roman’s utmost satisfaction - he bows his head towards Roman and hoarsely says, “Good night, sir,” before he’s practically sprinting out of there and back towards his room.

\---

A few hours later, the fucking Batman crashes through one of Roman’s warehouses with a fucking _ sidekick _in tow.

He’s an annoying little piece of shit, and Roman empties a whole magazine in his direction, but not a single shot lands on him, _ or _ on Batman.

He leaves before shit really hits the fan - although the loss of _ another _ stash _ pisses him off so much _ \- and while the evening’s been a general waste, the incident _ does _ give him the most _ brilliant _ idea.

\---

The spark in the boy is still burning strong, and it doesn’t take much to redirect it in the way Roman wants it to go.

Despite the way Roman’s been treating him, Roman’s noticed that the boy _ craves _ positive attention from him, in _ any _ way.

It had been little things at first; getting his punishments offset by good behaviour, getting a wave of dismissal instead of being ignored completely at the end of their ‘conversations’. Roman had noticed that the boy would hold himself straighter whenever that happened, would look up ahead of him instead of staring down at the floor as usual.

Roman had tested his theory by giving the boy an off-hand _ good job, boy, _ when his governess had presented Roman with the boy’s first test scores, and Roman had almost burst out laughing when the boy had frozen and his eyes had widened with visible shock, while his cheeks had reddened ever so slightly.

_ Praise, _ that’s all the kid needs. Hah.

So Roman brings him out for _ work _ at night, gets Danny to look after the boy while Roman holds his meetings and dishes out threats to competitors and more shitfaces that think they can get the better of him. He lets the boy get used to the world where Roman is king in, and after a week, he gets the boy to participate.

It’s a careful plan. 

Every two weeks, Roman would play cards with his lieutenants, and it’s the one night for all of them when Roman would let them ask for _ one _ thing they want from him; _ if _ they manage to win. 

The catch? If _ Roman _ wins, he gets to pick which one of them he kills that night.

He doesn’t actually kill them, most of the time - dead bodies don’t _ work _ after all - but if they piss him off throughout the four hours of play, then none of them can hold any deaths against him. 

(None of them _ can _ anyway, but it’s these kinds of false moments of fairness and _ friendly competition _ that helps foster his men’s loyalty.)

The plan is simple; he’s going to get the boy to play this time, and he’s going to see how _ far _ he’s willing to go to get Roman’s approval.

Roman’s confident the boy will win. He’s a good actor, and according to his governess, he’s got the smarts in spades. The real challenge is whether he’s going to kill when Roman tells him to.

Half an hour into the game, Dick’s already cleaning Roman’s men out.

None of them are happy about it, being humiliated in front of the boss by losing to a fucking _ nine-year-old. _ It makes them snappy, puts them on edge.

They’d treated it like a joke, initially, pretending to play nice because they all know Dick is the boss’s kid. But now that they’re seriously losing, it’s starting to grate on their nerves, starts making them run their mouth. 

They don’t think Roman’s noticed, or that Roman would care, but Roman’s using that to choose which lieutenant will be leaving the room in a body bag tonight.

“Oh _ come on_!” the dead man says when everyone else finally folds, and Dick lays his full house of cards on the table with a passive expression on his face. He stands, running his hands through his hair in agitation. “This ain’t right, kid’s been cheating, I _ know _ it.”

Dick looks over at Roman hesitantly, not knowing what he’s supposed to do, and Roman stands from where he’d been sitting to the side and makes his way over to the boy.

Dead man pales and ducks his head when Roman stops by Dick’s side, and Roman rests a hand on Dick’s shoulder. He feels the boy tense up under him, but relaxes not a second afterwards.

“You’re calling my boy a cheat, Jacks?” Roman asks casually, levelling the dead man with a flat stare.

“_No, _ boss,” he protests vehemently. “No, of course not- I’d never-”

“Good. Because that means you’re calling _ me _ a cheat.”

Roman can practically _ smell _ the fear that radiates off of Jacks, who glances over at the other lieutenants desperately, _ knowing _ that he’s painted a target on his own back.

“See, Jacks, I don’t very much like sore losers,” Roman continues, reaching his free hand behind him for his gun and tightening the one on Dick’s shoulder. “I don’t think you’re a good fit for us anymore.”

“No, please, boss, don’t do this, you don’t have to-”

Roman’s men surge towards Jacks, grabbing a hold of his arms and holding him still as Jacks struggles and continues to beg for his life.

Roman ignores him, crouching down next to Dick instead. Dick sees the gun he’s holding in his other hand and grimaces, looking at Roman with fear in his eyes.

“Shoot him,” Roman says, handing the gun over to the boy. “I’ll let you choose where but he’s going to die tonight regardless.”

Dick’s eyes widen at the order, darting down to the proffered gun before going back to Roman’s masked face. He’s shaking his head, his shoulders trembling.

“No, I can’t,” he says. He looks over at the thrashing lieutenant, licking at his lips. “Please, sir. I can’t do that. Anything but _ that._”

It’s the reaction Roman had expected, but seeing the boy’s distress with his own eyes is even better than he’d imagined.

Roman feigns a disappointed sigh, drawing Dick’s eyes back to him, and _ there. _His expression becomes stricken, realizing that he’d let Roman down, and Roman straightens back to his feet. He aims the gun at Jacks and shoots him in the head, silencing his incessant pleading instantly. He hears Dick suck in a shaken breath and lets go of the boy’s shoulder.

“I thought you were doing better,” Roman says. “You know this means I’ll have to punish you.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I’m sorry-”

A single, piercing glare is enough to make Dick clamp his lips shut tightly, but he’s crying now, silent tears streaming down his cheeks. Roman wipes one cheek dry with his gloved hand and sighs again.

“Get in the car,” he barks out. “We’re leaving.”

\---

It takes years, but Roman finally gets Dick into the hang of things.

There’s rarely any more instances of defiance, not when the boy would rather have Roman’s approval more than anything else, and Roman gives it to him sparingly just to keep him dangling.

(It’s also hilarious to see the kid flounder with confusion at Roman’s mercurial moods. Sometimes Roman punishes him just because he feels like it, and Dick _ never _ understands that it’s through no fault of his own.

It keeps things interesting whenever Roman starts getting bored with the boy.)

It helps that Dick turns out to be very good at numbers and computers.

Roman hires experts to train him better, to hone his skills so that Roman can finally one-up the fucking Batman and his annoying little bitch. Dick fortifies Roman’s security and communication channels among his men and there’s a significantly lower amount of successful Batman busts as a result.

Dick even manages to hack into _ Batman’s _ communications sometimes, at least until Batman would realize and kick him back out, but it’s still an impressive feat for a _ kid. _

And then he _ grows up _ and Roman notices things about him that he really fucking shouldn’t.

(Like how pretty he looks when he’s blushing with embarrassment, or how long his lashes are when they flutter against the tops of his cheeks, or how tempting the bow of his back is when Roman’s got him in stocks and taking a whip without so much as a grunt of pain.)

It’s not just _ fun _ punishing him anymore.

It turns Roman on, having the boy laid across his lap, panting quietly as Roman paints his ass red under his hand. Roman can’t look the boy in the eye anymore without thinking about what he would look like, writhing on his back for Roman, squirming on his daddy’s cock.

Roman could make him like it. The boy’s a faggot, he’d love dick. He calls _ himself _ Dick. It’s definitely not a fucking coincidence.

But _ Roman’s _ not a fag and it pisses him off how much Dick’s getting to him.

He’d be in bed with Tiffany and all he can think while he fucks into her is how different her voice is compared to Dick, how disgusting her lusty eyes are compared to the innocence that still somehow shines through in Dick’s baby blues. Tiffany’s moans don’t bring anything but annoyance to Roman now, not when he can clearly recall the breathy little pants that Dick makes when he’s trying to withstand the pain of Roman’s punishments.

(He’s _ not _ a fucking faggot.)

It only _ really _ becomes a problem when Roman finds himself growling out the boy’s name when he comes inside Tiffany one night, and the bitch throws a tantrum about it afterwards, demanding answers and accusing Roman of being infatuated with his adoptive son.

_ Infatuated. _

It’s not the word Roman would use, but it makes him think about it more.

He dumps her the same night, lets his men take care of it while he sits in his office, considering his predicament.

Roman’s not a faggot, but the boy _ is _ his son by law. And the boy’s been good lately, listening to orders without any complaints, still smiling pretty for the media whenever they’re in public. He doesn’t even question it anymore whenever Roman tells him he’s going to punish him, and he takes it so well, sometimes Roman thinks he _ likes _ the punishments.

What kind of a father would Roman be, if he doesn’t provide for his son’s every need?

Dick’s a good boy after all. Good boys deserve rewards.


End file.
